Looking Closer and Beyond
by mimsygoblin
Summary: A deeper look into the relationship between Cullen and Inquisitor Lavellan, and what comes next. Smut warning.
1. Chapter 1

After weeks of fighting, planning, and scouting, Asha'din returned weary. Despite this, she could not stop thinking of the Commander of her forces, of the somewhat awkward game of chess they had shared, and the lingering gaze they had shared when they last had parted ways.

She had spent the time both mulling over and distracting herself from the intense attraction she had been feeling toward him. At first, she was content to mostly ignore her feelings. After all, there were far more pressing matters to attend to. Potential end of the world and all that. Yet as time wore on it became increasingly apparent that her feelings would not be ignored.

She didn't even know if he really reciprocated her feelings. He seemed to take some note of her awkward fumblings in conversation and was perhaps even amused by them to some degree, but there had been no clear confirmations of him feeling the same way.

So it was eventually that she came to a decision. She would tell him, and if he accepted then they could proceed from there. If he was not interested, she could be turned down, eliminate her hopes of pursuing something more, and move on with a more clear mind.

After a good night of sleep, a hot bath, and slightly over-obsessive grooming, she strode with determination to the tower he worked and resided in. Other bid her good morning as she made her way over, but they received little more than quick mumbled greetings in response. The Inquisitor stopped just outside his door, momentarily frozen. Drawing in a long, slow breath, she reached for the knob and turned.

As the door swung open, the Commander looked up from his desk. The Inquisitor met his gaze with wide eyes and quickened pulse, coloring her cheeks with a warmth she begged he would not notice.

"Inquisitor," he greeted, formal, but with warmth in tone.

"Commander Cullen," she responded in a colder tone than she intended. It was all nerves, but the seriousness of her tone set the former templar on edge.

"Is something the matter?" he stood on instinct, as though he may need to leap into action on a moment's notice following her next words. She had his full attention.

"I...I thought we might talk. Alone."

His visage darkened, making him impossible to read. She rather hoped it wasn't dread.

"A-alone? I-I mean, of course," he stammered nervously.

Crossing the room, he opened the door leading out onto the battlements, no longer able to meet her gaze.

Lavellan was terrified. She had fought the undead, demons, abominations, templars, and frightful creatures alike, yet felt no fear of them like she did of this moment.

As Cullen stepped out onto the battlements with the Inquisitor, the silence between them was deafening. In his nervousness, he scrambled to fill that silence with something, anything. Even something inane.

"It's...a nice day," he stumbled out.

"What?" the Inquisitor turned to look at him, seeming a bit wide-eyed and disturbed, as though him speaking had interrupted some deep vein of thought.

Cullen groaned inwardly, at a complete loss. He had a feeling what this conversation was going to be about and it terrified him. "It's…" he trailed off. Quit while you're ahead, Cullen. "There was something you wished to discuss?"

The Inquisitor cleared her throat, her gaze lifting to meet his. "I...am finding myself thinking about you more than…" she trailed off, as if thinking better of what she was saying. "Well. All the time, really."

Cullen was stunned. He had thought this conversation would be on this topic but he never dreamed… "I...can't say I haven't wondered what it would be like." His heart raced in his chest, almost painful in its intensity.

He had harbored feelings for the Inquisitor for some time. To have them acknowledged, for her to confess to having been feeling the same...he was elated. He was even more terrified. He felt cautious and reckless all at once. The complexity of conflicting emotion was culminating in a heady brew that left him feeling dizzy. Yet still he felt apprehensive. There was so much going on.

"What's stopped you?" she asked, as if sensing his hesitation.

Cullen recited the same reasons to her that he'd given himself over a dozen times in his head of why he was being a fool. "You're the Inquisitor. We're at war." He could not help but step closer, being drawn in by her pleading gaze. Perhaps they were both fools. Was it so wrong to be foolish once in a while? "And you...I didn't think it was possible."

Lavellan offered a brilliant smile, as though the weight of the world was slowly slipping away from her shoulders. "And yet I'm still here."

"So you are," the wound iron core of his heart began melting at her smile. "It seems too much to ask."

"But I want to…" His gaze fell to her lips and he was drawn closer still. His mind was drunk off a brew of ecstasy, and feeling more bold and empowered than ever before, he sought to capture those lips with his own. Those pleading blue eyes fluttered closed as the Inquisitor leaned forward, as eager for a taste of him as he was of her.

"Commander!"

He stopped an inch from her face. He had not realized how far they had fallen into their own world when the scout suddenly tore them from it, crashing them both back down to cruel reality.

Lavellan cast her gaze low, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

The Commander exercised immeasurable self control by not leaping to beat the man senseless. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath, attempting to calm himself from his fury at the interruption.

"You wanted a copy of Sister Leilianna's report," the scout stated plainly, ignorant of what he had done.

The former templar turned a foul glare at the man, as if willing him to burst into flames with his gaze alone. "What?" he practically snarled through gritted teeth.

Without skipping a beat, the scout replied, "SIster Leliana's report. You wanted it delivered 'without delay.'"

Cullen faced the scout with a terrible scowl, unwilling to explain the situation. He just wanted the man to leave, reports be damned. It certainly wasn't anything that couldn't wait. And the love of the Maker, this man was a scout. A spy! How did he not notice the situation he was interrupting?

The scout's eyes widened as a very intimidating commander glowered at him. As if just noticing the Inquisitor for the first time, he shifted his gaze to her. Cullen could see the pieces finally coming together in the scout's wide, terrified eyes. Good.

"Or...to your desk then. Right…" the scout's face turned beet red as he stammered and backed away slowly. He then fled the battlements to leave the pair in peace.

Cullen's blood was boiling. He had imagined this moment for so long, and he would not have it ruined by some idiot with no situational awareness.

After the man left, Lavellan appeared completely crestfallen. "If you need to-"

The commander whirled back around, and pounced on the Inquisitor. An arm slipped around her waspish wasp and he pulled her against him as his lips crashed against hers with desperate need and longing. At her startled gasp, his tongue sought out hers to explore, to taste, to revel in her.

The Inquisitor went weak in his arms, swept away in his passion. Then she sprung to action, her arms coiling around his neck, exploring the hot sweetness of his mouth with fervor.

As suddenly as Cullen was swept away by his passion, he remembered himself. They were in semi public on the battlements, after all. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, his breath heavy and ragged, his heart in his throat as he admired her flushed, beautiful face and swollen, glossed lips.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, a little remorseful at startling her and letting his emotions carry him away. "That was...um...really nice."

The Inquisitor peered up at him mischievously, eyes alight with joy. "I believe that was a kiss, but I can't be sure. It was all a blur."

His tension melted away once more and he laughed softly, pressing his forehead to hers. "Yes, well." He could think of no witty response, so he did the only thing he could think of. He kissed her again. Gently, this time. Tender and caressing, his passion checked for the moment.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been over a month since the kiss on the battlements. Lavellan was both impressed and entirely annoying that he always exercised such stern self control, as though being swept up in his passion was terrifying. While his tender affection was welcome, there was always that impression that he was holding back, and at times it stirred insecurities in her. That, and it was always a stolen kiss here and there, but things did not seem to progress much further.

It was, of course, the war. There just wasn't any time for romance to blossom, especially with the whole mess with the Grey Wardens. It seemed resolved for the moment since the storming of Adamant, but it weighed heavily on her. The Wardens had only been trying to do what was right, and the whole ordeal was exemplary of how much they were willing to sacrifice to save Thedas. For Corypheus to exploit such noble purpose...it made her seethe. Though the threat was ever constant of Warden corruption, she had allowed them to stay. Or at least, most of them. Some had been sent out and away from Orlais and its corrupting presences to find recruits. To help rebuild after so many were lost, and in case a great many more were lost. She knew how important it would be for the wardens to redeem themselves. Not just to others, but to themselves.

By comparison to these large troubles, her complaints of not having enough time with Cullen seemed almost petty.

Today she sought him out to discuss how best to put the Wardens to use. She had no desire to put them in needless danger where corruption was concerned, but she had to give them some purpose and guide them to doing real good. Cullen would have answers she did not, for while she was capable in many ways, the tactics of war in troop assignment and movement was not her forte.

Yet as she stepped into his office, he was nowhere to be found. A helpful soul delivering a report to his desk pointed her in the direction of the Seeker.

Trekking back down to the courtyard near the tavern, she did not see Cassandra in her usual spot either. Just as she was about to leave and seek them elsewhere, she heard shouting from the nearby building.

Approaching the door, she stepped inside to catch a bit of a conversation that she was not sure she was supposed to hear. Cullen had mentioned that he had asked Cassandra to watch him, and she was certain this was about that. Not wanted to eavesdrop, she approached the pair quickly to announce her presence.

Cullen's face grew dark and troubled at the sight of her, then twisted in pain. Bowing his head, he turned and moved for the door like a dog with its tail between its legs.

"Forgive me," he murmured as he passed by.

Cullen's veins were on fire, he was dizzy, and he felt feverish. He was also furious. With himself, with Cassandra, with the war, and with the Inquisitor for having poor taste in men. Fleeing to the solitude of his room, he sat in a chair in the corner, gazing at the small box on his shelf.

It taunted him, the small thing, seeming so harmless yet remaining so sinister. It beckoned to him like an old lover, promising such sweet things if he gave in to his desires. It promised stability. Capability. It promised to make him better. Make him stronger. For the Inquisition and for Lavellan.

Lavellan. She deserved a good man. He desperately wanted to be the good man she deserved. Was he better without an addiction, or was he better with all the force and power of a templar? He did not want to have such an addiction, to be so drug-addled and reliant on anything but his own wit, but was he being selfish by feeling so? Could he be better.

 _You could_ , a dark part of him whispered.

The pulsing pain grew stronger, flaring in time with his heartbeat. Trembling hands lifted to his temples to rub in circles, his head pounding. He felt so weak. He was tired of feeling weak and helpless!

He cried out as the pain grew stronger still, sending him off the seat of his chair and to his knees, hair matted against his forehead. Howling out in frustration, he grit his teeth against the pain, lifting himself to his feet. Crossing to the washbasin, he splashed water over his face, its coolness soothing against the burning heat that threatened to consume him.

Lifting his gaze to the mirror, he could not recognize himself. Bags under his eyes, hard lines on his face, a pained, silent snarl on his lips. Was this a man that should be leading Inquisition forces? Was this a man that Lavellan deserved?

The pain spiked again, and he found himself beside the shelf, reaching for his case. He moved with it back down the ladder to his desk to have a proper surface to set it up on. With an innocuous click, he opened the case and stared at the contents inside, freezing in his tracks. The pain receded slightly, as though his body anticipated the release it sought.

His hands trembled.

 _No._

He reached out to pluck out an instrument. The shrieks of demons, mages, children and innocents filled his ears, drowning out his senses.

 _NO._

WIth a cry of fury he snatched up the case and cast it from him, the thing flying and nearly hitting a very startled Inquisitor as she entered the room.

He clenched his trembling fists, his heart sinking. Maker, he had nearly…"Maker's breathe, I didn't hear you enter! I…" Shame colored his face. Now she had seen him lose control. Would she doubt his ability to perform now? She should. "Forgive me," he said in a low tone, a heart-wrenching plea to both Lavellan and the Maker.

Lavellan was concerned. He had been doing so well, and if he had the case out then it meant he nearly…

Why was he not sharing this with her? She wanted to be someone he could confide in. Someone to help with his burdens as he helped with hers. It was likely, in his mind, she was pushed away for her own sake, but it was not what she wanted…

"Cullen, if you need to talk…" she started apprehensively.

"You don't need to-" he was cut off by another peak of pain, liquid fire pulsing in his veins. Crying out he stumbled, catching himself on the edge of his desk for support.

She strode forward to help, but she was waved back.

"I never meant for this to interfere," he sighed bitterly. His tone was steeped in self loathing.

Lavellan moved forward anyhow, laying a hand on his cheek, hot and burning in contrast to her cool hands. "Are you going to be alright?"

Cullen closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her hand. Grimacing, it was a mere moment before he pulled away, withdrawing into himself once more. "Yes," he insisted quickly. Then, after a moment, he sighed. "I don't know." He gazed down at his trembling hands.

The Inquisitor took his large hands in her own two small ones, helping to steady them with her quiet strength.

The Commander gazed down at those small hands, his hard features softened into something so afraid and vulnerable. "You asked what happened at Ferelden's circle. It was taken over by abominations. The templars- my friends- were slaughtered."

He pulled away from her, retreating to his window. He gazed out it, the long stare of a man who'd seen far too much, and continued. "I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I-" he stopped, his voice thick with emotion. "How can you be the same person after that?" Glancing over his shoulder, his lip curled at the pity on her face. "Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight-Commander and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall's circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets. Can't you see why I want nothing to do with that life?"

Lavellan was near tears, she moved toward him once more. "Of course I can, I-"

"Don't!" he snarled, lifting a hand to stop her. "You should be questioning what I've done." He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, cursing the headache that would not leave. Feverishly, he continued. "I thought this would be better. That I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts won't leave me…"

He began pacing frantically now. He didn't even seem to really be speaking to her anymore. His tone turned in on himself. "How many lives depend on our success? I _swore_ myself to this cause…" Tears stood in his eyes. "I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did to the chantry. I should be taking it!"

Turning with a cry of rage, he sent his balled fist into the wall with a loud thud, breath ragged and fury dissipating into inconsolable depression. With a shudder, he said in a quiet and defeated tone, "I should be taking it."

Lavellan scowled, wiping tears from her eyes. Something stirred fire in her heart, and she felt white hot anger that he would be so down on himself, to not recognize his value and progress. It was kept in check, and she attempted to reason with him any way that she could.

"This doesn't have to be about the Inquisition. Is this really what you want?" she cried, partially indignant. She already knew the answer.

Cullen collected himself, arm falling to his side and his shoulders slumping forward with a sigh. "No. But these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse...If I cannot endure this…"

The petite elf raised on her toes to press a feather-light kiss to his cheek, hands steady on his chest. Cassandra was right. He gave himself far too little credit. "You can."

For a moment, a look of pure adoration crossed his eyes. With a sigh, he nodded. "Alright."

With a sigh of relief, she crossed to the floor to pick up the pieces of his case's contents. Setting them right back in place, she stood with it to set it on his desk.

He touched her hand to still her. "Asha...will you hold onto it?"

Clutching it to her chest, she looked hopeful. "Are you certain?"

The Commander nodded, sinking wearily into his chair. "Please."

The elf set a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze, even if he could not feel it through his armor. "Of course. And...when it gets difficult like this...you can talk to me."

Cullen closed his eyes, hanging his head. "Alright. For now...I just need some time."

The Inquisitor nodded, then let him to his thoughts.

When the Inquisitor left on another outing to seal rifts and solidify Inquisition presence, she assured him that she would be by to see him as soon as she returned.

In her absence, he was able to collect himself. The pain passed, and he was doing better by the day. He threw himself back into his work at a pace much kinder to himself. Everyone was raw in different ways through being so overworked, many carried through on blind faith alone. When he stopped being so focused on his own failings, he was able to see a bigger picture. It was funny how the world could seem like it was falling apart in one moment, then he could see the greater good at work in the next.

It was these things he was reflecting on when he heard someone approach behind him. He knew without turning around who it was.

Glad at her return and sheepish at his behavior in their last encounter, he felt conflicted at her presence. "I wanted to thank you. When you came to see me…" No, that wasn't quite right. "If there's anything…" Reaching up rub at the back of his head- a tell for when he felt nervous or awkward- he sighed. "This sounded much better in my head."

The sunlight was behind her, and it lit her honeyed-golden hair aflame with light. Maker, she was breath-taking. She smiled, those large blue eyes wrinkling in delight. "I trust you're feeling better?"

"I- Yes."

Cullen felt anxious as she moved closer. He worried at his lip, worried that by his previous behaviour he had lowered himself in her eyes. She was not acting as though it had, but perhaps…

"Is it always that bad?" she lifted a hand to brush her hair away from her eyes.

"The pain comes and goes. Sometimes I feel as though I'm back there," he peered off over the battlements and into the distance, chiding himself aloud, "I should not have pushed myself so far that day."

WIth visible relief, the Inquisitor nodded. "I'm just glad you're alright."

"I am," he half-smiled. It felt good to mean it. It faded quickly as went on. "I've never told anyone what happened at Ferelden's Circle. I was not myself after that. I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me. I'm not proud of the man that made me. Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that 's a start"

Lavellan set a hand on his arm. "For what it's worth, I like who you are now."

"Even after…"

She turned to face him fully, taking both his hands in hers, her small grip firm and reassuring. "Cullen, I care about you. You've done nothing to change that."

He exhaled sharply, feeling unworthy of her and grateful all at once. It was exactly what he had needed to hear without realizing it. His gaze softened, some of his tension slipping away. But it was not enough. He did not want to just be supported. He wanted to support her as well. "What about you? You have troubles of your own. How are you holding up?"

The Inquisitor, with her ever cheerful nature, did not seem rather troubled at all. "I've met good people here. Knowing they've got my back...it helps."

He chuckled. "You certainly keep interesting company. But then I suppose I do as well."

Lavellan nudged him gently with an elbow in good humor. "That you do. And you know, we all have your back too."

Cullen felt comforted by this, settling into a peace within himself he had not known for years.


	3. Chapter 3

Things had gotten busy for quite some time after that. There was a ball in Halamshiral, Cole becoming more like a person, a rather interesting game of Wicked Grace that left the Commander entirely nude...she had liked that last one, though she had not admitted that to Cullen.

With so much going on there had been little time to reconnect. Even now as the Inquisitor finally found a moment to check in on the Commander he was surrounded by his men, planning and doling out orders. She liked watching him here. He was so in his element, in command, and confident.

At sight of her, he hurried through the rest of the meeting, concluding business and locking the door behind them all as they left. One moment alone seemed like such a tall order these days.

Bowing his head, he lamented, "There's always something more, isn't there?"

Lavellan leaned back against the wall, offering a crooked grin. "It certainly seems that way. Wish we steal away more moments together."

Cullen seemed apologetic at that. "I barely found time to get away before. But this war won't last forever. When it's done, I hadn't considered much beyond our survival, but things are different now."

Amused, the petite elf hummed, "Oh? What do you mean?"

He seemed serious now, something pleading in his eyes as he looked to her. "I find myself wondering what will happen after...when this is over. I won't want to move on…" he moved towards her, peering down into her widening eyes. He smoothed a thumb over her cheek gently, his gaze falling to her lips. "Not from you."

Lavellan was speechless. She had wondered how...serious he was about their relationship. If he had thought about what would happen after the war, or if she was something sturdy to cling to in a time of turmoil. She had hoped…

When she did not speak he began second guessing himself. Feeling torn, he pulled away. "But I don't know what you...that is, if you, ah…"

She turned with him, not allowing him to retreat from this one. She slid herself onto his desk to sit on the edge. "Cullen, do you even need to ask?"

"I suppose not, I-"

They were both startled as an unseen wine bottle was knocked to the floor, shattering.

Cullen regarded it, then her for a moment. A sea of emotion crossed his face, until something reckless and wanton settled there. With a hungry grin, he swept over his desk, knocking papers and bottles alike to the floor. He advanced on her, eyes and heart burning.

Her heart caught in her throat as she was backed over the desk, her smile fading as that passion burning in his eyes fanned her own flames. They both knew what they wanted, and in a world torn by war, they had to take what they could when they could.

A crooked smile settled on his lips, cool and confident. As he laid her back, he settled over her, on hands and knees over her atop the desk. His lips crashed against hers, hungry and with the same abandon as their first kiss. Their tongues wrestled, explored. They took one another in, each with rivaling, ravenous appetites.

The elf's hands lifted to fumble at his mantle. She wanted to feel him. All of him. To discover, to devour...she craved it. Yet she had trouble with the clasps, groaning in frustration as she continued to fumble at them, only half-attentive to them as she explored the soft wet mouth of her commander.

Cullen couldn't help but laugh, pulling away to undo the clasps himself. As he did so, he hesitated. It had been so long since he had gotten so close to another without his armor on. After all he'd been through, it felt...wrong to expose himself so. Unsure for a moment, he peered down over her, breast heaving with heavy breath, cerulean eyes half-lidded with desire. His confident, crooked smile returned as he resolved those feelings, casting them off as the useless fears they were. He undid his clasps, pulling off mantle and armor alike, letting it fall with heavy thuds to the floor beside them.

When he was left in his tunic and trousers, he was pulled into another ravenous kiss. Lavellan slid her hands under his shirt to sample the flesh of his abdomen. She let slip a wanton sigh into his mouth, jerking the garment up and over his head. They broke their kiss as the shirt came off, then collided together as it was cast aside.

Her hands explored the flesh bounty now laid before her, memorizing every muscle, every patch of skin, every mole. Her thumbs skimmed experimentally over his nipples. Drawing in a sharp breath, he let slip a groan. His lips travelled down her chin and stopped as he reached her high collar. With a low growl, he unbuttoned the collar and pulled at the shirt. Lavellan shifted so it could be removed entirely.

Cullen gazed down over her bare chest, then back up to her flushed face. She was aglow in the candlelight, beautiful and otherworldly. With an almost pained expression, he murmured, "Maker's breath," before leaning back down, pressing his bare chest to hers. His mouth sought purchase at the nape of her neck, his chest lifting so his thumbs could brush the soft, sensitive undersides of her breasts.

Her back arched, fingers intertwining with his golden hair. Those slender fingers curled into it, tension pulling at his mane.

His kisses trailed downwards, moving over her breast to capture a taut nipple in his warm mouth, delighting at the feel of such soft, supple flesh. She whimpered at the sensation, then drew in a sharp breath.

Cullen curled his fingertips into the tops of her trousers, peeling them downward slowly, reverently, as though undressing her was holy work. Desire half-lidded his eyes as the rest of her came into view. He shifted to unlace her boots, pulling them off to slip off her clothing the rest of the way.

Before he could do anything else, Lavellan sat up, scooting to the edge of the desk to press her lips to his chest. Delicate fingers unlaced the top of his trousers, sliding them down to bare him as well.

He felt so vulnerable, yet so hungry for her affection. He studied her face as her gaze travelled down, every bit as hungry and lost in desire as he was. She kept him stilled with a gentle hand on his hip, the other sliding downwards to trace the inside of his leg upward. The former templar closed his eyes, pressing his lips into her hair.

Her small hand danced over his testicles, fingertips smoothing around their outlines, inspiring goosebumps on his flesh. Drawing in a sharp breath, he fought to maintain control, to stay still and allow her her explorations.

She lifted her face to study his, locking his gaze with hers and her hands both pressed palms against his impossibly hard length. He instinctively bucked against her grip, groaning in torturous pleasure.

He could control himself no more. He pressed her slowly but firmly backward, leaning over her to grind his length against her opening. Lavellan whimpered, drawing his face to hers to claim another passionate kiss. In slow, firm motions, he rocked himself against her opening, but did not slip within. Instead he ground his shaft over her button, soaking himself in the nectar that burst forth in response.

When he was certain he was thoroughly slickened with her, he positioned himself at her opening. He broke their kiss to peer into her needy eyes, wanting to watch her face as he joined with her.

"Cullen," she pleaded, her hands pressed to his flushed cheeks. "Cullen, _please_ …"

With an impassioned groan, he slowly slid himself inside her. He was careful, tender...she was so much smaller than he, and she was so...constricted around him. When he was buried to his hilt, he stilled himself, moaning at the feeling of being surrounded by her wet warmth. He felt both of them trembling at the sensation, her small arms around his neck.

With a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, he said softly, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, ma vhenan. Are you?" Lavellan asked.

"Maker, I've never been so alright," he sighed. Pulling back slowly, he re-sheathed himself in her warm once more, causing them both to tighten their grips, to gasp. He repeated the motion, quickly this time, then set into a steady pace.

The steady paced quickened still, until he was thrusting vigorously and with abandon, growling and groaning. Lavellan cried out with each thrust, pulling him in each time with the strong, slender legs coiled over his hips. He set a firm grip on one breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers as he suckled at her neck, teeth grazing over her throat.

The Inquisitor was overwhelmed by lust and sensation, and was lost in his affections. A warmth built, maddening in intensity, and soon sent her tumbling over an edge. "Cullen!" she cried, tensing suddenly, her inner walls constricting tightly around him as she drowned in her own climax.

As she clamped down on him, he could hold out not longer. He had already been struggling to keep himself from ending things prematurely. At her release, he found his. His hot seed shot deep into her, years of tension escaping as he emptied himself.

And then it was over, leaving them both panting with exhaustion. He was caught in her embrace, thoroughly captured by this ethereal creature. For a time, they stay there, unmoving and silent.

Eventually, she broke that silence. "Alright. The desk is getting a little uncomfortable now."

Cullen quickly lifted his weight off her, helping her to sit up. "Forgive me, I did not...I was anxious. I suppose I could have chosen a better-"

"It was perfect," she grinned. "I didn't want to wait either."

Laughing, he pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. "Maker's breath. That was...that...well. At any rate, I have a bed upstairs. Would you...care to join me there? And sleep here tonight?"

Wrinkling her nose, she let slip a girlish giggle. "Yes. But I don't know how much sleep I would let you get."

Groaning, he sighed. "I am a lucky man."

"You're telling me. There's a ladder to climb to get there, and I'm willing to go first. Without dressing."

They made love for most of the night. There had been so much doubt and apprehension for so long, they just wanted one night for them, without interruptions.

When they did finally get to sleep, the sun had begun rising. It was only a few hours before the Inquisitor woke once more, reluctantly dressing herself to don the mantle of responsibility once more. She was careful not to wake her lover, as she was certain he could really use the sleep.

As she laced up her boots, she heard him stirring. Turning, she peered into his face. His brows furrowed as he began to toss and turn, murmuring incoherently.

"Leave me…" he slurred, troubled and desperate.

His breath quickened, and he sat up, startled awake by his nightmare as he cried out, "Leave me!"

For a moment, his eyes were wide and wild, confused and terrified. Recognition and realization sunk in, and he exhaled, falling back against the pillow, hands pressing to his face.

Concerned, she set a hand on his chest. "Bad dreams?"

He inclined his head, shrugging in sleepy, grim acceptance. "They always are. Without lyrium, they're worse." He closed his eyes a moment, clearly adept at shaking off such dreams from years of practice.

When he opened them, he rolled onto his side, lifting a hand to her cheek. "I didn't mean to worry you."

With a gentle smile, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You could let me worry about you a little."

Laughing, he said, "Alright." Then, more seriously, "You are...I've never felt anything like this."

Lavellan traced his jaw with her thumb. "Ma vhenan, you have my heart. I love you."

Cullen melted, feeling more secure and happy than he could ever remember feeling. "I love you, too." He drew her into a kiss, their lips meeting tenderly. "Asha, what does ma vhenan mean?"

The Inquisitor place a kiss on his forehead, saying simply, "It means 'my heart'." And with that, she rose from bed and moved to the ladder. "Now come to breakfast. I'm famished."


	4. Chapter 4

Weeks later, Asha would find herself perched on the battlements, watching the sun set over the mountains. It looked like fire, like the entire world was on the verge of being consumed by flame. It was dichotomous with the peaceful quiet, but it set her weary heart to rest.

Halamshiral had been exhausting, though a bit fun. The Game had almost been an amusing diversion, even if it was something she could not engage in regularly. Publicly exposing the duchess had made her feel so confident, so powerful. She felt like the Inquisitor.

By contrast, the Arbor Wilds and what transpired shortly thereafter with Morrigan had shaken her to her core. She had her doubts about all this business with Andraste and the Maker, being of elven descent. Her ponderance about their existence had not come up at all until she had miraculously stepped out of the Fade the first time, so it was not troublesome to wonder. But Mythal? Mythal. She had just spoken to fucking Mythal.

A finger traced the lines of her vallaslin. She could not feel them, but she knew the lines well. They were the markings of Mythal, after all.

Thus if Morrigan was the daughter of Mythal, then did that make Morrigan a holy woman to her people? She laughed aloud at the thought.

"Do you have any idea how mad you look, sitting here laughing to yourself with that hundred-yard stare?" a familiar voice startled her. "People will talk."

The Inquisitor turned sharply, facing her new company. "Well, I didn't think anyone could _hear_ me. Besides, if they think the Inquisitor is mad, they're less likely to trifle with me, I'd say."

Dorian leaned against the stone beside her with a roguish grin. "I know _I'm_ terrified."

The Inquisitor stuck her tongue out at him, making a sour face.

The mage regarded her for several moments, head inclined to one side. Lavellan peered out into the distance once more, pretending not to notice his stare. Normally his quips and humor were enough to pull her from a rotten mood, but this was so...so... _big._

"You'll go blind staring at the sun like that," he chided.

"It's setting, and there's a thin layer of clouds over it. It isn't bright enough to be blinding."

Dorian frowned for a moment, then spoke again, "Alright. You've been sulking since you and Morrigan vanished for several hours the other day. I can't stand you sulking about, but I'm concerned, so here we are."

The Inquisitor groaned, leaning back and rubbing her face. Maybe it would help to talk it out. After all, she had to face Corypheus and she couldn't be distracted by another God. He might get jealous.

"My people have been adrift, nomads and outcasts. We are faithful to our Gods, we mark our faces, we share the stories...our Gods do not answer even the Dread Wolf. If they were really there, wouldn't they have done something for us? Instead of us barely scraping by in a world of shems! Er, no offense," she winced.

He smirked, "None taken. Especially after my best and only friend, an elf, has forced me to consider the elven plight a little more closely than I had before."

"Anyway, I thought our Gods were gone. Maybe the Dread Wolf really sealed them away, but where is _he_? So when all this Herald business came up, and everyone was talking Maker this, and Maker that, and Andraste this and that, and so many things happen that were impossible...I wondered. I started buying into all this rubbish!" she huffed. "Then...Dorian, when Morrigan and I disappeared the other day, we were chasing down her son in the Fade. I met Mythal."

"Pardon my deaf ears, but I do believe I just heard that you met Mythal," he scoffed.

"I did."

Dorian wrinkled his nose, "Of _course_ you did. Herald of Andraste, Confidant of Mythal, and plays Wicked Grace with the Maker every other Tuesday."

"Just when I start buying into this nonsense...I meet one of my Gods. I meet my Goddess," she scowled, the threat of tears standing in her eyes. "And now I don't know what to believe. She didn't seem very godly to me, by the way. I suppose because she had to fuse with Flemeth…"

Dorian laughed mirthessly, "Asha, only you could pop off for a few hours, meet a Goddess in the Fade, and find out the the legendary abomination, Flemeth, is possessed by the spirit of said ancient elven deity. But what did Morrigan and her boy have to do with this?"

"Apparently, that's her daughter and grandson."

Peering off at the sunset, now darker than before, Dorian looked bewildered. "Well, I suppose I understand now why you needed to sit up here and laugh to yourself like a madwoman."

The Inquisitor slid off the wall, her mood soured. "I thought talking about this would help, but it didn't. My head's a mess and I need to sort it out."

Dorian appeared a bit hurt as the Inquisitor walked away, but said nothing further. After a moment of staring after her, he turned to the setting sun once more, finding his own mood had soured along with the Inquisitor's.

"It isn't your fault," Cole appeared beside him. "It was a good try. I don't always get it right, either, but the trying matters. Now that I remember things, I see that the trying matters later."

The mage glanced over at the spirit-boy. "You know, that actually helps. Thank you, Cole."

Appearing rather pleased, the spirit smiled quietly. "Good."

Lavellan found herself in front of a solid wooden door in the gardens to pray to Andraste. Who knew if she would hear her, or if she was real at all. All she knew is she felt a little lost, and her usual humor was nowhere to be found.

She was startled was she walked in on a praying Cullen, who if he heard her enter did not acknowledge her presence. He continued with his prayer, "Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide.I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."

Something about finding him here, bent in devotion, true to his beliefs, was calming, and stilled the storm she felt brewing inside. She clung to that feeling like a buoy. "A prayer for you?" she asked, mostly to announce her presence.

He peered over his shoulder at her, appearing troubled himself. "For those we have lost." His gaze fell as he added, "And those I am afraid to lose."

"You're afraid?" she asked, her own concerns now wholly set aside as she turned her focus to easing his.

"Of course I am!" he said between clenched teeth. "Corypheus possessed that Grey Warden at Mythal. What more is he capable of?"

The Inquisitor winced at the mention of Mythal, but it did not break her focus from easing his troubles in this moment. She stayed silent to let him speak.

"It is only a matter of time before he retaliates. We must draw strength while we can," he said sullenly. He approached her now, and it became clear he had not been sleeping well, if at all. Wearily, he continued, "When the time comes, you will be thrown into his path again." He could not meet her gaze now, his eyes closed as he wrung his hands. "Andraste preserve me, I must send you to him."

For a moment, she felt selfish for being so absorbed in her own troubles moments before. A hand lifted to settle over her heart, fingertips feeling for the coin she kept tucked in her smallclothes against her breast. When she felt troubled, she touched it as a reminder that she was never truly alone.

Putting on her best smile, she moved to stand in front of him to peer into his face. An easy task, given his head was bowed and she was so small beside him. "There's nothing to worry about," she said, convincing herself as much as him. "I've got luck on my side, remember?"

The realization that the lucky coin he had given her not only meant something to her, but was something that she clearly treasured brought a half-hearted crooked grin to his face. With a laugh, he gazed at her now. "That's less comforting than I'd hoped."

With a heavy sigh, she coiled her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. He welcomed this, his own armor-clad arms enfolding her in a returned embrace. He felt so strong and safe that it made her feel vulnerable, and her own troubles began to well at her breast, stifling her breath. Being a beacon of hope meant that she had very few safe places to just...be a mess. Now that she had a moment of feeling safe and cared for, it boiled to the surface like acid, burning as it came up.

"Whatever happens, you _will_ come back," he murmured like a prayer. She didn't know who he was trying to convince. Not that they didn't both need convincing.

"I certainly hope so," she swallowed a lump in her throat.

He tightened his embraced, moisture gathering in his eyes. "The thought of losing you…" He buried his face in her neck, warm breath on her skin. "I can't..."

They held one another silently for a time, breath heavy with emotion, afraid to let the other go. After some time, Lavellan pleaded, "Will you stay with me tonight?"

He tensed in her arms, and she could feel a hand curl into a fist. "I would like that, but I should maintain vigil. We cannot allow him to take us by surprise."

In that moment, she hated Corypheus more than ever. Pressing a kiss to his lips, she said, "Alright, but promise me you'll try to sleep a little."

Cullen half-smiled, eyes full of woe. "Goodnight, my love." With nothing more, he turned and left.


	5. Chapter 5

There was little Cullen could do but pray. For all his forces, for his own prowess...he merely stared at the newly formed island in the sky, watching two dragons battle and seeing no sign of the Inquisitor or Corypheus.

His heart thundered in his chest, fear gripping him like a chill winter wind. "Maker, watch over her. Bring her back to me alive. Maker...Maker, _please_ …" he choked out. He arose as the sky grew darker, it's eery glow brightening.

Wave after wave of demons appeared while they battled above. For hours it raged on, and with each passing moment the Commander grew more frantic. His fear and anxiety channeled through his blade and fueled his ground campaign against the demons, making them easy work. After all, he had experience dealing with them.

Then, there was a moment of silence after clearing a final wave, followed by a loud rumble that sounded like thunder. An explosion colored the sky as the rift above snapped shut and became no more.

The floating islands began falling, and Cullen called a hasty retreat to escape the debris now falling from the sky.

The moment it settled, he raced back in, frenzied as he scoured the rubble for the Inquisitor. "Asha!" he called out in panic, desperate to find her. The scout party he had come with and fought with aided in the search.

When he finally found the Inquisitor, she was on the ground, unconscious. He was at her side instantly, at first afraid to move her for fear of an injured back or neck. He set a hand gingerly at her should instead, "Asha!" he cried. "Maker, Asha. Please be alright."

After a moment, her eyelashes fluttered, her body curling inward as she began coughing.

At sign of this, Cullen swept her into his arms, clinging to her tightly. "Asha!"

When her eyes fully opened, she snapped back into awareness, eyes whirling about to make sense of her surroundings. Then came recognition. When their eyes met, she startled, hands moving to his shoulders. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead grinned. Then she started laughing. Whole-hearted, full-belly laughter.

Cullen was bewildered. Had she gone mad? Yet as she laughed, and as relief that she was alright and that everything was finally over set in...he himself began to laugh. They laughed themselves to tears, then clung to one another until their laughter finally died down.

As if suddenly remembering something, she pulled herself away and stood. "Solas! He cushioned my fall so that...where is he?"

They did not have to go far to find him. He was hunched over the shattered remnants of the orb. The moment Lavellan saw it, her heart sank. Another piece of elven history destroyed. "Oh, Solas...I'm so sorry."

"It isn't _your_ fault," he said bitterly, tears in his eyes. Setting down the broken pieces he stood and turned to face them. He had the look of a man who'd lost everything.

The Inquisitor grew concerned. "There's more, isn't there?"

The elf mage's visage contorted in pain, "It was not supposed to happen this way. Whatever comes, I want you to know that you shall always have my respect."

Cullen watched the interaction, but something felt...odd about it. Like something much bigger was going on than he could grasp ahold of. His thoughts were interrupted by Cassandra.

"Inquisitor! Are you alive?" she called, though they could not see her.

When the Inquisitor turned to join the rest of them, Cullen followed closely. After so much suspense, after fearing and praying and being torn inside, he could not bear to let her out of his sight.

An injured Morrigan limped to the front of the group, her honeyed alto heard above the murmuring, "Victorious, I see. What a novel result. And I see the breach is finally closed."

"It looks that way," the Inquisitor purred, clearly pleased.

"What do we do now?" Cassandra asked, mesmerized by the sky.

The Inquisitor peered out over her comrades, gazed up at the sky, then turned a cheerful smile to Cullen. "We go back to Skyhold."

The Inquisitor sank into the bath, exhaling as the water crept over her head and held her in its calming warmth. Everything ached like hell, though the heat was soothing. The battle had lasted for hours, and she had tapped into reserves of strength and stamina that she did not know she had. Truthfully, she wondered if it she'd had the aid of benevolent spirits as invested in defeating the one who'd been corrupting them into demons as anyone else. She would ask Cole later. He had, after all, been with her in the final battle.

Rising above water, she drew in the crisp, cool, air of her chambers, the sun beaming in through the open windows despite the chill of the mountain air. Leaning back, she closed her eyes. Now that she had defeated Corypheus, it felt good to relax. She had been carrying around the tension for so long, it was a miracle she'd born it as she had.

A knock came at the door.

Without stirring or opening her eyes, she called, "Who's there? I'm busy."

A voice called through the door, "Ah, forgive me. I can return later."

Sitting upright, she opened her eyes. "Cullen! No, you can come up."

She heard the door open, and his heavy, armored footsteps and creak of the stairs. When he emerged, he scanned the room, then realized what he'd just walked into.

"Maker's breath…" he caught his breath as he gazed at her, not expecting to find her in such a state The sunlight caught her hair and the water of the tub, setting it all ablaze. His eyes wandered over her face and down to her lightly freckled shoulders before he averted his gaze. "I...I hope I am not disturbing you."

Asha's heart leapt at the sight of him, blushing furiously at her lack of modesty yet so clearly appreciative of the view. Setting her chin on her folded arms over the edge of the tub, she seemed girlish and innocent in her smile and large blue eyes. "Cullen, this thing is enormous. I think we should see if it can fit two."

The Commander swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. His eyes lifted and fixated on her now, modesty dissipating in the face of arousal. "Yes, we ought." His hands deftly set to work undoing clasps and and shedding armor pieces.

"Slower," the Inquisitor commanded, hungry blue eyes relishing the sight of the heavy bulk being discarded to reveal the man beneath.

Cullen's face flushed red, his hands stilling a moment. "Y-you want...Maker. Alright." He sportingly slowed his movements, feeling suddenly vulnerable as he shed his layers. One by one, pieces of armor were set into a pile to the side. As he lifted his tunic, the tension rippled through the muscles of his abdomen, Lavellan hungrily drinking in each fresh patch of flesh exposed to the air.

Watching the desire play over her face, her eyes growing drunk with lust, he could not help but become painfully aroused himself. It pressed against the fabric, pulling taut the lacing that caged him in. The pressure eased as the laces were undone, doubly so when his length sprang free as he dropped his trousers.

He approached the Inquisitor, whose pale, lightly freckled cheeks were flushed. She caught her teeth on her bottom lip, unable to take her eyes off of him as he climbed into the tub and sank down across from her.

"You're stunning," she murmured, moving forward to set a hand on the tub's edge at either side of his head, crawling then to straddle his lap.

He set his hands on her hips, painfully aware of their bare sexes touching. "That's my line," he murmured, resisting the urge to drive himself home immediately.

Demanding lips and seeking tongue crashed against his, hungry and eager for what they had been able to have so rarely. Cullen matched her appetite with his own, arms crushing her to his chest. His tongue explored her sweet mouth, drinking in her taste and grappling with her own.

She whimpered against him, legs gripping his sides to grind her button against his length. He groaned, hips bucking to meet her. Maddened by this, his lips moved to her neck, nipping and sucking, his mouth working to keep him grounded and from spinning out of control.

"Cullen…"she sighed, her warm breath over his ear.

At his name, he spoke with lips brushing the nape of her neck. "Forgive me, I can wait no longer. I need you."

In response she lifted herself, a fumbling hand reaching down to grasp him and guide his drooling tip to her opening. Slowly sitting back, she used her own weight to spear herself on his shaft. Cullen's hips bucked hard to assist, driving himself in fully to the hilt. They shared an impassioned cry at their union, goosebumps traveling up their spines.

Like an animal in heat he leaned her back and thrust vigorously into her, delving into her repeatedly. The pace was quick and furious, desperate in its way. The Inquisitor muffled her own mewling by sinking her teeth into his shoulder.

Cullen cried out at the sudden sensation of pain there, a cry that turned quickly into a throaty growl. Water rolled and splashed from the tub as his movements quickened, rutting with such wild abandon that he would later shock himself.

The Inquisitor continued to nip at his neck, knuckles white by a grip on the tub's edge that kept her upright. Pressure built and boiled inside her, her head finally tossing back as she howled out her pleasure when wave after wave of climax came.

The Commander growled, not yet finished. He leapt as she leaned back, mouth catching her breast between his teeth. He bit as she climaxed, something she seemed to enjoy as she wrapped her arms around his head to crush him against her breasts. "C-Cullen!" she squealed, her entire body now trembling against him.

As though his name were a woven spell, he felt a tightness rapidly building. He pistoned into her, parting her, sinking into her, until he erupted so powerfully it left tears standing in his eyes. He thrust upwards once more, strong arms pinning her down over his length, then stilled. Asha could feel the twitching of his cock as she was filled, seed warmer than the water.

And then they collapsed, he still inside her. Cullen against the back of the tub, and Asha's petite frame against his large chest, now heaving as he caught his breath.

His head swam, it was so light now. "Maker," he murmured sleepily, eyes closed.

Lavellan's brows lofted, breathless herself. As she recovered, she marvelled, "Creators. I've not seen you like that before."

Cullen's eyes snapped open, suddenly concerned. "Forgive me. I-"

She squeezed herself around his length with a soft hum, and cut him off. "Cullen, don't you dare apologize. That was magnificent."

She could feel the tension in him fade. He lifted a hand to rub at his forehead. "Andraste preserve me. You drive me to madness."

The Inquisitor laughed, a warm, light sound. "I like you mad. It was nice not to be treated like I'm made of glass."

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I shall bear that in mind."

"I started getting rough, anyway. I hope it wasn't too much," she bit her lip.

The Commander's cheeks flushed darker. "No, I...I liked it. More than I ought to have, which makes me feel a little depraved."

Rising, she slipped off of him, causing Cullen to groan and shudder. "Now that Corypheus is gone, we have all the time we like to see how far that depravity goes." She stood over him, sunlight catching the water that ran down her nude form. Cullen watched her with complete devotion and admiration, feeling vulnerable yet empowered all at once in her presence.

Leaving the tub, she fetched a towel for him as well as herself. Cullen accepted it gratefully as he climbed out of the bathtub himself to wrap it around his waist.

Lavellan stood nude before him, roughly toweling dry her hair. Approaching behind her, he gently set his hands on hers. "May I?" he asked.

Her hands lowered as she stood still, allowing him to dry her hair. He was far more gentle about it, but the act of being so cared for felt more comforting than he could know.

"Cullen," she said softly.

"Hm?" he hummed as he worked.

"Marry me," she whispered.

He was so startled that he dropped the towel.

The Inquisitor turned to him, so nude and bathed in sunlight that she looked like a spirit. Those sky blue eyes searched his, vulnerable and terrified despite being the one to have asked.

"H-have you thought this through? I mean, I…" he stammered, lost for words.

Something in her face slipped away as frightened and hopeful turned into demure and sullen. "I see. I had wondered where we were going, and the moment I defeated Corypheus and you found me, I knew what I wanted." She turned away. "It's alright if you don't...I just thought…"

He stepped forward, pulling her into a tight embrace, "I just want us to talk about what that would mean. I didn't say no."

She returned the embrace, burying her face in his bare chest. "I thought you would be excited by the idea."

"I am, but that doesn't mean I can't make sure that it's what is right for us both," he murmured with lips in her hair. Sweeping her up into his arms, he carried her to the bed and deposited her there carefully before lying down beside her. "So let us speak."

The Inquisitor turned on her side to face him. "What ought we speak of?"

Cullen turned to face her as well, propping up his head with an arm. "Maker, what not to speak of. First, do you want children?"

Blue eyes widened, surprised. "Do you?"

He set a hand as her cheek, thumb tracing her cheekbone. "For a long time I could not imagine finding anyone like you, let alone someone I could think of marrying. I did not want children then, but now...I do. With you."

Lavellan's brows knitted in concern. "I...have not been able to make up my mind. I suppose it could be alright. Half-elven children are not generally looked kindly upon, but since I am the Inquisitor, perhaps it would make it easier for them if we did."

Cullen nodded. "It would certainly garner more favor than a child born in an alienage, but they would always face that stigma. I expect that as Leliana makes her changes to the chantry, that will become more acceptable."

"I certainly hope so. Look, I know there will be troubles. We're from different worlds, and so many dangers lie ahead of us even with Corypheus dead. I know that we have both put our lives on the line to make this world right, and better. Can't we have something for ourselves? I think we've earned the right to be a little selfish. All I know is that whatever semblance of a long, happy, normal life we can eke out together, it's worth anything and everything to me."

Cullen gave her that melting look, a kind and crooked grin on his lips. "Maker, I love you. And you're right. As soon as things settle down here, let's do it. We'll...get married."

"Oh, Cullen!" she coiled herself more solidly around him, pressing kisses all over his face.

"Though, you should know...I'm a little sore at myself for not asking you first. You deserve some grand romantic gesture that sweeps you off your feet. All I've given you so far is war."

She wrinkled her nose. "You've given me a little more than that. And you've already swept me off my feet. How many times do you need to do so before it is sufficient?"

Cullen grinned, nuzzling into her neck. "It will never be sufficient. I want to sweep you off your feet repeatedly, for the rest of our lives."

The Inquisitor heaved a deep sigh, "That was quite a line, Commander."

"I always thought you to be inspiring, Inquisitor."


End file.
